Halfbreed
by SilentRanger777
Summary: Ten years after the Rider War the continent has entered a state of peace. But a new enemy rises threatening to destroy what others fought and died for. Also arising in the peace is a strange individual known only by one name... Barzul. What part is he to play in the colossal events to come? Only time will tell.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I do not own the Inheritance Cycle.**

* * *

**A Glimpse of a Past**

_The faceless one walks not alone_

_to fight the foe as strong as stone_

_Sword and spear of no avail_

_but bravery will end the tale_

_Golden scales and starborn steel_

_together face the darkest zeal_

_Together two must fight as one_

_or victory will come for none_

With the day coming to an end, the people of Teirm began to turn in for the evening. Men, finished with the days labor, went to the local taverns for a few well earned drinks. Terrance, a seaman, was enjoying a mug of his favorite mead when he recognized a friend of his enter the tavern.

"Hello there, Carl!" He shouted over the din of the tavern and waved his friend over.

"Evenin' Terrance, back from 'nother voyage?"

"Aye, that I am. 'Ow's that family o' yours?"

"Oy, that missus of mine'l run me ragged 'fore my time."

The two men laughed and Terrance bought a round of drinks.

"Don't think I've forgotten 'bout your promise." Carl said as he drank.

"Promise?" Terrance said with mock innocence. "What promise might I 'ave made?"

"Ya, promised to tell me one of yer sea tales next time you 'ere in port."

"Oh, yes, I 'member that. Well, let's see." The older man rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "Don't know which one to tell."

"Ya once said ye sailed with Redwave. That's a tale I'd like ta hear." Those nearby silenced at the name of the near sea captain-hero of the rider war. His name was well known in the port cities. The City-state of Teirm was no exception.

"Did I now? Well I suppose that's as good as any." Terrance leaned back in his chair and drank the rest of his mead. "Redwave… only the bravest of souls sailed with the faceless seaman. Fiercest warrior as I've ever seen, with the exception o' Eragon. 'Ated the empire with a vengeance I tell ya! We plundered the false king's navy we did. Made a fair bit o' fortune too. Captain never kept much for 'imself though, gave the lot ta us that sailed with 'im. Now, the fiercest scrap he ever got us into was during the Battle of the Burning Plains…"

* * *

A peaceful sleep evaded Arya, queen of the elves. She found herself on the deck of a ship, hidden in a cove on the sea. She stood beside a man clothed completely in black. His helm, the same color, sat atop his head. where his eyes and the rest of his face should have been visible was nothing but a black void. On his hip was a red scabbard, one that Arya was certain that she had seen before. A voice called out behind him causing the man to look behind him. The voice belonged to a woman, fully garbed for battle in light leather and a bow slung across her shoulder.

"Captain, three ship are coming from the north, they bear the symbol of Galbatorix on their sails."

Arya expected the voice of the man to be shade-like, the kind to induce fear. But when he did speak it came out surprisingly normal, like any other person.

"I have seen them, set the sails and prepare the ballistae." The voice sounded young, yet tired, like a young man that has seen far too much bloodshed in his time. The woman ran to carry out his orders, but he remained and turned his attention back to the coming shipst. His own ships sails were quickly set and moved to intercept. Their prey was three imperial warships, armed and loaded with armed men. His ship was merchant ship outfitted for war, not as large as it's foe, but built for speed. For several minutes there was naught but tense silence, then the captain raised his hand. Those manning the ballistae near the center of the ship aimed the deadly weapon. The man's body occasionally twitched, the telltale signs that he battled a wizard. One finger on the man's raised hand dropped downward. On cue, the ballistae fired its projectile at the lead ship. The bolt struck right at the waterline, a killing blow. As the ship sank the crew reloaded the weapon. The other two ships closed the distance with murderous speed. Now within arrow distance, the enemy crews launched several deadly volleys, many crew fell.

"Fire."

The second shot was true, striking the starboard side of the second ship, dooming it and its crew to the sea. The merchant ship shook as the last enemy boat came alongside them. Boarding planks and hooks latched on to them. The captain spoke in a roaring command as he drew his sword.

"Prepare to repel boarders!"

The battle was a fierce and bloody contest. The captain's crew was badly outnumbered, but fought valiantly. But it was the warrior captain that turned the tide in their favor. The enemy magician on the ship was no match for him. As his head rolled on the deck the captain pointed his hand at the boarding ship.

"Seint líða du karfi!"

Arya could only imagine the drain on the captain's energy from such a spell. But slowly, the opposing ship began to move away from his own. Once at a safe distance, he shouted two more commands.

"Endir seiðr! Brisingr!" A ball of flame shot from his hand and struck the imperial ship, setting it ablaze. The captain sunk to his knees, weary from the effort, but not as weary as an imperial soldier thought. Seeking revenge the destroyed ship and now trapped on the merchant ship, the soldier charged the captain with a battle cry and a raised axe. The captain whirled and plunged his sword into the the soldier's gut. Their ship now destroyed, the remaining soldiers were fairly easy to mop up. The battle won, the captain slumped against the railing of the ship.

"Take that Galbatorix!" A sailor yelled towards the capital. "You're reinforcements ain't coming!"

For a long time the captain didn't move, it took Arya a moment to realize that he had fallen asleep. Warily, a soldier walked up to him and nudged him awake.

"Captain… Captain!"

"Zzzz.. eh?.. wha?"

"I didn't want to wake you sir, but, it's Ellon, she's lost a lot of blood due to an arrow and…"

Before he could finish the captain lept to his feet and ran to the other side of the ship where the wounded woman lie. Ellon, the woman that had alerted the captain to the incoming ships, had been shot in the early volley by an arrow. The missile had struck her leg and severed an artery if the great amount of blood around her was any judge. Several bandages lie around her, witnesses to the futile attempts to stem the bleeding. The captain knelt down, next to the dying woman.

"Why wasn't I told of this?" He demanded from those around him. Ellon answered.

"No… time…" Her breath was shallow and ragged.

The captain placed his hand on the wound. "Waíse heill." The wound closed, but that was all that he could do. The effort drained his already sparse supply of energy. His shoulders slumped visibly.

"Have I… served well?" Ellon asked him.

"Yes, you were my best quartermaster."

"...Have one wish?" She managed to say between a cough.

"Yes, anything I will grant if I am able." The captain's voice began to choke.

"Might… I see…" She coughed again, but he knew what she was asking.

"Of course." He silently signaled for all others to turn away, and none dared disobey. He uttered a few unintelligible words and removed his helmet. His face was angular in appearance, his eyes were brown and matched his hair. Among men, and some elves, he would be considered handsome. What surprised Arya most was that he appeared barely past twenty. A band of cloth he wore on his head, which covered his forehead and the tips of his ears. His face bore several scars which diminished his looks somewhat. Ellon smiled then gave one last gasp and lay still. Solemnly, the captain, uttered several words in the ancient language, the void that covered his face returned and he placed his helm back on his head. Without warning, he reared his head back and cried into the sky, like an animal wounded in a field. The cry echoed across the sea.

Arya woke suddenly, sweat beading down her forehead. Firnen, her dragon, was looking in her window, too big to fit his head inside.

Are you alright, Arya?

Yes, I think so… did you..?

I saw it as well.

Arya laid back onto her bed, she could almost hear the man's cry in her ears. She didn't know who the man was or where the battle on the seas had taken place. But she swore she had seen the sword and the man before.

* * *

Far to the east, Eragon stayed up late that night, pouring over a scroll. Saphira yawned and rested her head on the ground.

You should really get some sleep little one. It is late and you've been staring at that piece of paper for too long.

Eragon sighed. He knew she spoke truth, but he felt this puzzle needed to be solved.

The faceless walks not alone… to fight the foe… Bah! He threw his hands up in the air. It makes no sense.

A low rumble escaped Saphira, which Eragon knew was a laugh.

Prophecies, if it really is one, aren't supposed to make sense. And you found it etched into the side of a cave. Parts could be missing, or it could be the scribbles of a madman, either way it shouldn't rob you from sleep.

You're right. Goodnight Saphira.

Good night little one.

Eragon made his way to his room on the Ey abr Shur'tugalar, Island of Dragonriders. On the island he, the elves that had gone with him, and the new riders that had come in the past ten years, had built a massive fortress-city built specifically for them. The city was built circularly, with a great wall defining its border. In the center was a great hall, built that both dragons and riders could come in and out with ease. Within the walls were many homes for riders and dragons. The houses were large, the lower levels big enough to house a dragon twice the size of Saphira, and the upper levels were devoted to the riders themselves. Upstairs Eragon sat on his bed and looked westward, like he did every night since he had left Alagaësia. His heart yearned to return, but his duty held him back. He laid down in his bed and closed his eyes, exhaustion taking hold of him.

* * *

A man, clothed entirely in black, walked the plains north of Ilirea. Even in his cloak, the cold bit sharply against his skin. He was tired, but he didn't stop to rest, only moved forward, like an unseen force pushed him onward. The force was his own, but he walked with the stride of a man who seeks a death. But what death was known only to him. He had no purpose: it had left him ten years ago. The empire was gone, and the betrayer with it. The sun rose in the east over the Hadarac desert. He looked towards the sun, but its warmth did not seep into his body. A void covered his face from view even in the morning daylight.

The sound of metal against metal caught his attention: the ominous sound of battle. He turned to the direction of the noise, it was some distance to the west. Without a moment's hesitation he sprinted in its direction, his hand on his sword.

* * *

**Ancient Language**

** My skill in the ancient language is limited at best. Feel free to send me a pm to correct my atrocious ancient language grammar.**

**Líða vëoht du karfi!: Slowly move the ship!**

**Endir seiðr: End spell**

**Brisingr: Fire**

**Waíse heill: Be healed**

* * *

**A/N: I have returned for another story. This one set in the realm of the Inheritance series. I don't know how often I will be able to add new chapters since I'm already working on one. I started this one to help keep my writing fresh. Feedback is appreciated, hope you enjoy.**


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: Ya, ya, whatever. You know what goes here.**

* * *

**Barzul **

**"Fate is like a strange, unpopular restaurant with odd little waiters who bring you things you never ask for and don't always like."**

**-Lemony Snicket **

Neomi slashed another attacker across the chest with her sword. Sela roared and crushed another beneath her claws. Her orange scales shone brightly in the morning sun. They would not, nay, could not, lose this fight. The caravan had just begun to move again just as the sun rose from the east. The elf, Neomi, and her dragon, Sela, were just awaking when dozens upon dozens of well armed warriors appeared over a small knoll and stormed the caravan. Wards protected their enemy so magic was useless against them. The fighting was reduced to a brutal test of swordplay. The defenders-3 men, 3 elves, 3 dwarves, 3 urgals, and Neomi and her dragon-fought desperately to defend their charge.

_Don't let them reach it!_ Neomi ordered them as soon as the battle began. 'It' was referring to the dragon egg they were guarding. The last yet to hatch.

"Let them try!" One of the dwarves shouted, and so the fight progressed. The battle would have been lost if not for the advantage Sela gave them. Flame, tooth, and claw tore through the ranks of their foes.

_Stay close Neomi. _

_Stay safe Sela._ A man charged her and she readied herself to cut him down. Before he managed to reach her he stopped, the tip of a red blade sprouting from the center of his chest. He looked down at it in disbelief before he fell down dead to reveal a black clothed figure behind him. On figure's head rested a black helm, his face remaining hidden behind a black void. Before she could say anything he lept over her in a elegant display of agility and cut another enemy in two.

_Questions can wait, Neomi._ Sela's voice spoke in her mind. _The battle is still waged._ Conceding the point, she turned her attention back to the battle. Her comrades had been pushed back, forming a circle around the center wagon. Neomi charged into the fray, cutting down one foe after another. She managed to rally them all and counterattack, turning the tables. She sparred quickly with another enemy. She blocked his attacks with casual ease, then stabbed him in the chest.

"Blast…" The man cursed before falling over dead. The battle was over. What minutes before was thriving green plain was now red with blood and strewn with bodies of the dead. Thankfully, none of the guards had been seriously injured. After wiping her sword on a nearby corpse she spotted the black clothed man at the edge of the battlefield, standing over an enemy that was bleeding out from a missing arm. Neither moved, the armless man stared up at the emotionless void that glared at him. The man suddenly drew a dagger with his remaining hand and stabbed himself. The faceless man staggered back, then stood straight up. Everyone watched him nervously as he cleaned his sword with a rag he had produced his cloak. His sword was red on the blade while the hilt was midnight black. The blade was single edged with a point that curved back at the end. The metal was that of only one kind of sword, a rider's sword. Neomi braved the silence first.

"Who are you?"

"No one of consequence." He answered flatly without even bothering to look up at her. Findano, one of the elves, stepped forward, his blade pointed straight at the stranger.

"Learn to speak properly, stranger, or I will teach you …" Findano had always been one of the more proud of his kind, which had often gotten him in trouble, like it did at that moment. Faster than any could react, there was a swish of a blade and a loud clang of steel on steel. Findano suddenly found himself holding air instead of his sword, which was now stuck blade first in the ground. The man sheathed his blade and turned away from the surprised elf.

"Sorry if I don't spill my guts to every stranger I meet." His impotence surprised Neomi, and everyone present. Most at least respected elves, if not feared them outright. But this strange man showed neither trait, but showed almost… contempt. He turned to leave, but was blocked by Sela, who looked down at him critically. He bowed lightly to her. "Skulblaka." Sela sniffed him for a moment, then limited her thoughts to him and Neomi alone.

_What are you? _

_A lesser scion of greater men._

Sela snorted. _You speak in riddles and hide your face. Do you fear something or do you not know what your are yourself?_ The man was silent for a moment, the words apparently striking home. His next words were that of a man weary with the world.

_I am Barzûl._ He spoke no more, only walked past the orange dragon in silence. Neomi looked up at the dragon.

_Well? _

_I have never touched the mind of a more strange or miserable creature._

_What is he? _

_Familiar, yet foreign. _

Neomi gave her a look of mock scolding. _You're starting to sound like him._ Sela shook her head.

_I can't explain it with words. Should I show you? _

_Please do._ Emotions and images flooded her mind. Sela was right. His mind was like something you've seen, but it's been altered drastically. Two pieces of a world put together into something different. There were a few emotions she felt as well, none of them pleasant. Anger, bitterness, and sorrow seemed dominant. _Is that all? _

_We touched minds only enough to speak. His mind is walled strongly from any intrusion. But what does it matter now? He is gone and we have our duty to perform._ It was almost impossible to argue with a dragon, but Neomi still felt unsatisfied. By the time their exchange was over the caravan was in the process of getting moving again.

"Much glory was won this day!" An urgal declared to a nearby man.

"I was thinking bruises myself, but honor is okay I guess." They both laughed in their own way and continued to prepare the wagons. Neomi went to the middle wagon and examined their charge. After moving several crates and piles of hay and after removing dozens of wards, she laid eyes on the egg. The gold colored dragon that waited within stubbornly refused to hatch for anyone for the past ten years. After the others had hatched Eragon sent a rider to guard it for a year. At the end of the year a new rider would be assigned to guard it. Neomi was the third rider given this duty and it was as dull as ditchwater, until today. They had been taking the egg from Osilon to Ilirea. Neomi wondered about the attack. It was well coordinated and obviously planned, but by whom? It was a question better suited in the city where the egg was safe and they could ponder such mysteries. She cursed herself for not extracting the information from the mind of one of the attackers. The egg suddenly began to shake violently, like the dragon within wanted out, and wanted out now. Unsure what to do, she tried to calm it by speaking to it. Eventually, the shaking ceased, and once more the egg was still as a rock. Carefully, she replaced the crates, hay, and wards that covered the egg.

The rest of the day proceeded without incident. Though the guards became a bit upset when they realized they wouldn't make it to Ilirea before dark. As the sun set the guards halted the caravan and settled down for supper. Supper was simple fare, bread, some dried fruit, and a bit of salted meat for Sela. While Neomi ate she wondered who the stranger could be. For all she knew he could be a bigger threat than the attack had been. Sela must've caught a stray thought for she looked at her with one eye as she ate.

_You worry too much_ Sela told her. _He means us no harm_

_How are you so sure? _

_Because I'm a dragon._ The plains darkened as the sun disappeared over the horizon. Sela set up patrols then laid against Sela form to try to get some sleep. She wasn't sure how long she slept, probably a couple of hours, but she woke up feeling a serious cramp in her back. Slowly, she rose to her feet and stretched, placing her hands on her lower back to relieve some of the pain. As she did she saw a faint flicker of light in the distance. Neomi looked around to see if anyone else had noticed it. The guards on patrol hadn't and Sela was still asleep. Her natural curiosity getting the best of her. She grabbed the hilt of her sword and began to sneak forward.

The faint flicker became steadier as she got closer. She moved carefully, avoiding anything that might make noise and give her away. The flicker transformed into a campfire, where a lonely figure sat on his haunches, his back to her. The figure bobbed back and forth. He seemed to be chanting some sort of prayer, but she couldn't hear what he was saying. When she was only a few feet from her quarry, his head suddenly shot upward. Neomi froze where she was, the man's head turned left and right searching. Seemingly satisfied that none were around but he, his head bobbed back down again. Neomi took a tentative step forward. In a blur of motion, the man whirled around and tackled her, nearly knocking the wind out of her. The void in front of the man's face revealed this was the same stranger that she had met that morning, to her surprise.

Barzûl, as he had referred to himself, seemed surprised too. "What the…?" Before he could finish the statement, Neomi shoved him off of her and drew her sword. Barzûl jumped to his feet and drew his own steel. Slowly, they circled each other, like two predators ready to strike. The man's stance was odd to the elf. He held his sword above his head, parallel to the ground, pointed straight at her. His left hand was held out, open palmed, as if daring her to attack. Neomi struck first, leaping the distance between them. Barzûl dodged to the side and slashed out at her knees. The sound of steel on steel rang on the plains as their battle ensued. The man was an expert swordsman, maybe a master, but so was Neomi, and she was an elf as well and that gave her a natural advantage. The man began to give ground and his swings became slower as he began to tire. Neomi lunged forward, catching him across the waist. Any wards he had were useless against Neomi's sword, forged from the metal of rider's swords. Blood flowed from the cut but the man ignored it. In a desperate move he dove towards the fire and grabbed a burning log. Just before he could throw it, a huge black form lept from the darkness and pinned him to the ground. The man struggled for a moment, but seeing who his captor was, he lay still. Sela growled at the still form of her captive.

_Are you hurt Neomi?_ She asked

_I am unharmed. _

_What shall we do with him?_ The man seemed to sense he was the subject of the conversation, but this didn't seem unsettle him, from what Neomi could guess from his body language, which wasn't much at all. While Neomi contemplated what to do with their prisoner, the subject in question spoke. Strangely, his voice was calmer than was to be expected from one mere inches from a dragon's tooth filled maw.

"So, älfa, what will you do now? Kill me? Interrogate me? Keep me as slave to do your bidding? Think carefully Shur'tugal, you hold a life in your palm." Neomi chose to ignore him . She sheathed her sword and strode over to where the prisoner's own blade had fallen from his grasp. She picked it up and examined it. It was indeed a rider's sword, the metal work was unmistakable. In the pommel of the hilt was ruby of incredible beauty. Curious, she extended her mind towards it. For a second, she felt an incredible amount of power, then, a mind slammed full force into her own. The sheer ferocity of the attack startled her, but in half a second she recovered and prepared to counter attack. Before she could the conscious pulled away into a tight ball.

_Do not meddle with what is not your own._ The thoughts unmistakably came from Barzûl, their prisoner. Scarce had the thoughts come from his mind when Sela surrounded his with her own mind. she did not attack, but kept him pressed in, hindering him from repeating his actions. Neomi looked down at him critically, still holding his sword.

"Where did you get this?" She demanded.

"It was my father's, and I ask you respect it as such. It's name is Bödhunda, Bloodwave" The sudden venom in his voice was a stark contrast from his previous speech. Neomi was not inclined to believe him, but his answer caught her off guard. How old would that make him? Very old. She pointed the tip of the sword at his throat.

"Remove whatever magic you have covering your face." This demand was met with almost indifference on their prisoner's part. Using his one free hand (the other firmly held underneath Sela's claw) he removed his helm and uttered an unintelligible word in the ancient language. The black void dissipated like a mist in the morning and revealed his face. His face would be considered handsome by some but the numerous scars upon it degraded his young features. His brown eyes stared at her, unwavering when she glared back. A band of cloth was wrapped around the top of his head, covering half of his ears and his forehead. Other than that he looked like a completely normal man. "What are doing here?" Neomi wanted to make sure he was not a threat to her mission before she even considered releasing him.

"I seek battle, and through battle death." He turned his head to look up at Sela. "You might understand, Skulblaka." Sela's face revealed no emotion, but she did puff smoke into their captive's face, causing him to cough.

"Why? Who are you?"

"What do you want of me, elf!?" His voice was full of unbridled rage. Neomi noticed that his mood seemed to change at a rapid pace.

_Is he even sane?_ She thought to herself, but Barzûl wasn't done.

"Would you have me give up my every secret until you could divine my inner name and bend me to your will? Or perhaps you see me as a threat and will murder me here and now! It was you who broke into my campsite! Not I! Do whatever you want, but I will not yield to you, or any of your thrice blasted race!" The pure hate in his voice was shocking, both to dragon and rider. Neomi had to admire his courage though. To speak such at a elf rider with her dragon present was no small act.

_We have no reason to continue this._ Sela spoke to her rider. _Leave this miserable creature to rot._ Neomi considered the point but before she could reach a decision their prisoner spoke again. This time he was apologetic.

"I am sorry. I should've held my tongue." He turned his head, refusing to look at either of them. "When you pour your entire existence into one cause, you can accomplish anything. But what then when the cause is done? My purpose is gone, and a life without purpose is a meaningless exercise." Neomi felt pity come from Sela, who then removed her claw, allowing Barzûl to rise.

_You could come with us._ Neomi turned and stared at her dragon with surprise.

"What?" Both she and Barzûl said at once.

_You could come with us. Perhaps you will find the purpose you seek._ Neomi was shocked at her dragon. Neomi most certainly did not want an insane man following them around. The man's response was more comical. Half laughing, half coughing, the man could barely speak a complete sentence.

"Me… follow a dragon and an elf rider?" He cough-laughed a few moments more before finally gaining control over himself. For a moment, he actually seemed contemplative. Then stood erect, his features emotionless. "Very well, my sword and I are yours to do as you see fit with." He said, binding himself in the ancient language.

* * *

**A/N: And so the plot thickens! Hope you've enjoyed this adventure so far. But don't worry! It's only just begun.**

**Please hit the 'like' button and please review!**

**Ancient Language and stuff**

**Skulblaka: Dragon**

**Barzûl: Dwarven for ill-fate, usually a curse.**

**Bödhunda: Bloodwave- unda is latin for wave, but in this case I used as part of the Ancient Language.**

**älfa: elf-properly, he should have said Alfa-kona, which means elf woman. But as you can see, this OC character is many things, but polite is not one of them.**


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: I don't own the Inheritance cycle.**

* * *

**Names**

**Names have power.**

**-Rick Riordan**

Neomi was not in the best of moods that morning. Sela, on the other hand, seemed entertained at her rider's irritance.

_I can't believe you did that._

_Did what?_ Sela asked, feigning innocence.

_You know exactly what I mean! Last night you suggested to a half-crazy human that he follow us, and he agreed!_

Sela snorted, smoke puffing from her nostrils, a sign that she was amused. _What of it?_

_What of it?! We do not need someone following us around! And how am I supposed to explain this to Eragon?_

_Tell him the truth. I thought that much would be plain._

_Of course, but why did you do it?_

Sela was silent for a moment. _Because it felt right._

* * *

After Barzûl pledged his sword to her in the Ancient Language he held out his hand to her. At first she thought he wanted to shake hands, an odd tradition unique to humans, but his palm was facing upward.

"May I have my sword back?" Neomi looked at Sela, who rolled her shoulders, the dragon equivalent of a shrug. Neomi held out the sword for him to take, but kept her muscles tense, ready to move without hesitation. Barzûl must have noticed her tension for he slowly picked up the sword near the sword with exaggerated care and ever so carefully sheathed it. An awkward silence followed, neither of the three spoke to the other, only watched each other nervously.

_Can we keep him?_ Neomi gave Sela an odd look. Sela seemed pleased at her jest. while Neomi failed to see the humor in the statement, Barzûl allowed himself a half-smile. With the silence broken, Barzûl walked back to the fire and rummaged through a small pack. In a few seconds he pulled out two leather wine-skins and threw one to Neomi, who caught it easily. She looked at him with a raised eyebrow. Barzûl rolled his eyes.

"It's tradition that a sailor and his captain share a drink when the sailor first goes under his command." In the dark Neomi couldn't see what was in the wine-skin, but it smelled distinctly of berries.

"You're a sailor?" She asked. His face hardened.

"Was." Seeing he wasn't going to divulge anymore information. Neomi turned her attention back to the liquid. Under her breath she whispered words in the Ancient Language that would alert her if any poisons were present, there weren't. She still wasn't keen on drinking the mysterious drink. She looked up to see Barzul taking several gulps then, after placing the stopper back in the wine-skin, toss it back towards the pack.

_Why do you hesitate?_ Sela asked _He may be a bit eccentric but he means no harm._

_One day I'll get you back for this._ Sela made a sound of amusement in her throat while Neomi took a hesitant sip. The concoction was sweet to the taste. Perhaps it is wine? Confidence growing, she took a larger gulp. The fluid tickled pleasantly down her throat and she had to force herself not to take another large swallow. She placed the stopper back in its place and held it out for Barzul to take. While she had been drinking Barzul had apparently been packing up. His pack was tied to his back and at the moment he was tightening his boots. He gave her a dismissive wave as he rose to his feet.

"Keep it, älfa. It is yours now."

"What is it?" She asked.

"Oldbush berrywine. It comes from an island near Surda. Don't ever drink more than a few gulps at one time. It has a very… tongue loosening effects if you do." Neomi stared at the canteen with renewed suspicion.

_Where are you going?_ Sela asked him. He had begun to walk out of the firelight.

"You're going to Ilirea, if I am to guess." Neomi nodded that they were. "I have a few things that I need to take care of first. When you get there I will be near the palace waiting for you. Farewell." And with that, he was gone, sprinting into the darkness. Neomi watched him until he left her sight, then she turned around and gave Sela an accusatory glare.

"What have you gotten me into now?"

* * *

The sun had barely begun to rise from the sea when Eragon rose from his bed. Quickly he dressed in plain attire, with his sword, Brisingr, on his belt, and shaved before going down the stairs. Saphira still slept as he slipped out of the house and stood the green area that grew in front of his home. As was his tradition for many years he began the Rimgar to start his day. Once completed he drew his sword and began to cut down legions of imaginary foes. This morning routine kept him fit and ready for the rest of the day, which could be quite a patience slayer. Satisfied, he sheathed Brisingr and returned to his home. Saphira had just awoken from her own slumber and eyed him lazily as he entered.

_Eragon, it is unnatural, getting up before the sun._ Eragon smiled, this conversation had become a tradition all of its own.

_I enjoy the quiet, with no one else around._ Saphira snorted and rose to her feet. she stepped out of the house and into the open air and stretched. The act reminded Eragon of a cat, but he kept those thoughts to himself.

_I must go hunt._ It was a statement of fact The island they had settled on was large, twice the size of Vreongard, and game was plenty. Where will you hunt? The Watchtower, perhaps.

The Watchtower was a smaller island half a mile to the south of New Vreongard. As the name suggested, on the island was a stone watchtower built long ago. Who built it was a mystery, but Eragon and the riders used it as a waypoint between New Vreongard and the southern isles where many wild dragons lived.

_Stay safe, Saphira._ Saphira grunted

_You're the one who gets into trouble every time I depart, not I._

_You're exaggerating._

_Am I?_ With a few beats of her mighty wings she took to the air. As she flew off, Eragon strode upstairs and sat on the edge of his bed. On his nightstand lay a book, which he picked up and opened. It had been a gift from Arya, who had given it to him a year ago through one of the riders that had visited Ellesmera. Only recently had he found time to begin to read it. The book was titled "Du Fyrn Shur'tugalar" or The Rider War in the common tongue. It was written by his friend Jeod and holding it was like holding a piece of Alagaesia. He found it interesting to read, especially since he was in it, as were many of those he knew.

_It is not a well known fact that during the Battle of the Burning Plains, another battle was occurring simultaneously at sea. A battle which attributed to the Varden's victory. As the Battle of the Burning Plains was escalating, ships sent by the false-king Galbatorix sought to bring reinforcements to the battles and tip the scales in favor of the Empire. These ships would never reach their destination, for a fourth ship would do battle against them. The ship, named the 'Vengeance', was captained by a mysterious figure known as Redwave, or the Faceless Seaman._

Eragon froze. the Faceless Seaman… it sounded similar to the words he had found on the wall of the cave. _'The faceless one walks not alone.'_ it could just be a coincidence. He resumed reading.

_In a fierce engagement the brilliant captain sank all three ships, but at a massive loss to his crew. Among the dead was his loyal quartermaster, which according to different accounts, cut him deeply. As for details regarding the captain himself, absolutely nothing is known of his life before his long sea campaign. Those who were part of his crew claim he was a master swordsman and many say…_

Someone pounded on the door three times. Eragon, slightly irritated at being interrupted in his reading, called out. "Who is it?" The deep, gruff, voice that replied was definitely owned by a dwarf, a dwarf Eragon recognized as Badoku.

"Oi, Eragon, were supposed to spar this morning." Eragon had forgotten completely. Cursing under his breath, he launched from where he sat and opened the door.

"I apologize, I forgot." The dwarf waved aside the apology with a large hand.

"Not a problem. To be honest, I forgot myself until Ohen reminded me." Ohen was the name of the dragon bonded with the dwarf. Badoku was the first dwarf rider, and was one the first new riders overall, Ohen hatching for him only two months after Eragon left Alagaesia.

"Well let's get to it then." The dwarf nodded his agreement and fairly jumped down the stairs while Eragon followed at a more leisurely pace. Outside, Ohen, a massive silver dragon, greeted him.

_Eragon-elda._ Ohen was younger than Saphira, but he was larger than her. The elves told him that it wasn't unusual for dragons to grow at different rates. Eragon thought it humorous that the largest of the dragons would have picked a dwarf as his rider. Ohen was also a quiet dragon, speaking only when necessary, but he seemed to be full of knowledge. While Ohen was silent, Badoku was not, Badoku chatted amiably as they made their way to the training grounds. While Badoku was chatty now, it reminded Eragon of the dwarf's 'issue'. Badoku had been six when Ohen hatched for him and the issue hadn't surfaced yet. But as the dwarf got older Eragon noticed something. At first it had been humorous, but eventually it began to worry Eragon. This dwarf, that wielded a greatsword as tall and heavy as he was, was scared of only one thing: women, and in particular, women taller than he was. His tongue tied into knots, sweat beaded down his face in bucket loads. and he avoided them at all costs. Eragon consulted Orik via an enchanted mirror on the subject.

"The boy is just going to have to conquer this fear on his own." He had told Eragon. While it sounded ok at first, Badoku showed little sign of improvement, despite efforts by others and himself.

_Oh well._ Eragon thought to himself _One day._

* * *

Barzul waited patiently near the palace of Ilirea , ever vigilant for the elf. The damage done to the city during the Rider War was gone and the city was returned to its former glory. Yet its beauty was lost on him as he waited. He had changed attire since arriving at the city before sunrise. Though the gates had been shut and the walls manned, he managed to sneak in undetected. During the night he had visited a hidden cache he had placed in the city many years ago. In the cache there were many items of interest; clothes and weapons mostly. After swapping several items and changing into a more suitable attire, he wandered the city waiting for daylight from the east. Once the city began to come to life he found a decent tavern and ate a small breakfast. His fast broken, he strode to the area near the palace and waited. His attire was less intimidating now, a simple brown traveling cloak with hardened leather armor beneath it.

For several hours he waited, barely moving from his position. The sun was just reaching the peak of it's daily travels when he saw the elf. She was carrying a bag in her arms, holding it close to her body. She was flanked by two of her own kind, a man, a dwarf, and an urgal. Just as he was wondering where the rider's dragon was he heard the thump, thump, of large wings beating the air. On the wide streets in front of the palace the orange dragon landed. She waited patiently as her rider and the escort made their way towards her. He was considering whether to walk right up to them or to follow at a distance when he felt a tug at his cloak.

He looked down and saw a small boy in rags staring up at him with pleading eyes. "Please sir." The boy begged him, his palms held out. The boy looked so scrawny and weak that Barzul stone cold heart was warmed. He eyed his own coinpurse and without barely a thought he took it from his belt and handed it to the boy. The small beggar stared at the coin purse in his hands in disbelief. "Th-th-thank you sir." He didn't meet the boy's gaze, but mumbled a few words before the boy ran off.

Barzul turned back towards the palace and nearly jumped out of his breeches. No more than three feet from his face was the orange dragon's head, staring down at him. Several colorful curses shot from his mouth and as he jumped back and drew his sword halfway out of its sheath. "God's above and below! Do you always sneak up on people like that?"

_Sneak? If you had been paying attention you would have heard me walk over._ Barzul grumbled and sheathed his sword.

"Contact me if you have need. I will wait nearby."

_You will not go in with us?_ Barzul shot a uneasy glance towards the elf and her escort who were now watching them carefully. The elf would recognize him, but not the guards. He shook his head.

"No. Elva Shining Brow resides within the palace, keeping watch over the queen. I will not go near her if it is within my power."

_What is going on, Sela?_ Neomi asked her dragon.

_He will not enter the place, he fears Elva and her power._

_Fear? Yes, fear plays a part in it._ Barzul entered into the conversation. _There are some things that should remain hidden. Even from the eyes and minds of Elva and the queen. I will come if you command me to alfa, but only if._

_It's probably better that way._ Neomi told him_ Are you coming Sela?_

_Yes, Neomi._ Just as she began to move towards the palace, she looked back at Barzul, with a dangerous look in her eyes. _The elf has a name, two-legs, and it is Neomi and I am Sela._ Sela followed her rider to the palace, her piece said and done. Barzul watched the depart, he face impassive.

"Neomi and Sela." He tested the names aloud. "Pretty names, pretty names."

* * *

**A/n: Hello! So you have introduced to my latest characters; the dwarf Badoku and his dragon Ohen. For those of you who might not know. Ohen is the name of a pre-rider fall dragon mentioned by Brom as Ohen the Strong.**

**Please Review and favorite the story!**


End file.
